Song of the Nightbird
by CatOrWall
Summary: "I'd stay with you, you know. Here, in the dark... forever. We can dance through the night and never look upon the sun again." Between bright, perfect Christine and a girl with her own darkness, what will Erik choose? [OC time-travel, active as of December '16]
1. Prologue

**Important Author's Note**

I'm going to be putting any information I consider important here, before the chapter. The link to this story's playlist is on my profile - it has the song for this chapter, as well as several songs that will be used in future chapters (but not all of them).

This story is mainly based on the 2004 movie adaption of Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical. However, I will be pulling things from other versions of Phantom as well - primarily the 1990 TV movie (staring Charles Dance) and the original novel by Leroux.

The song used in the chapter is Kill Caustic by AFI. The book series discussed by Lyrica and Ms. Nelson is Incarnations of Immortality by Piers Anthony.

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Chapter 1: Prologue

"You should try harder, Lyrica."

Lyrica spun her glass of orange juice, watching the liquid inside slowly catch up with its container. With some work, she could get a small whirlpool to form – the hard part was making sure it didn't slosh out of the glass. Janie hated it when she did this, but the woman was too intent on the stove to notice.

"Try harder to what, exactly?"

"Work with your therapist. It's been months, and he says you haven't opened up at all. How can you work through your problems if you won't talk to him?" Janie punctuated the sentence by flipping an egg in her skillet.

"What problems? I don't do drugs, I have good grades, and I do all the chores you ask me to. Do I sound maladjusted to you, Janie?" Lyrica did all of this for herself, of course. She understood the world well enough to realize that everyone is out to get something for themselves, and she didn't intend to put herself at a disadvantage by doing things just to please her foster mother.

Janie and her husband, Alex, had become foster parents because Janie couldn't conceive. Some do-gooder instinct in them had made them try to rescue the poor unfortunate children in care of the state. It had been a lucky break for Lyrica – they were annoying, but she got to eat well and they didn't yell much.

Lyrica was unlikely to get that lucky again, so it was best to behave until she was ready to strike out on her own.

"It's not that... it's just that you never seem to make many friends." Janie slipped the eggs onto the waiting plates and took them to the table. She handed one to Lyrica, who pondered how the therapist was supposed to help her make friends. Janie must think it was some self-esteem mumbo-jumbo. "I know it must be hard, having moved around so much, but I think it would really help you to settle in here."

Lyrica studied her plate and nodded thoughtfully. "It's not like I haven't been trying. Everyone at school always wants to know too much. It's like I can't be part of a group without handing over five years worth of diaries first."

It was true, in a sense. Word had gotten around that she was in foster care, and a number of people had wanted to know why. However, it wasn't the reason she didn't socialize much. The people there had nothing to offer her – they were all terribly short-sighted, worrying about who was liked the most and which high school team won sports games.

None of it was important, and it wasn't worthwhile for Lyrica to pretend to be interested. She'd put effort into befriending the school librarian, which had eliminated the need to find a group to sit with at lunch. It was much more peaceful to eat in the library anyway. The lunch room was always a noisy, chaotic mess.

While she considered the finer points of eating lunch away from the crowd of her 'peers', Lyrica mechanically ate her breakfast. Janie seemed content to go without conversation for the time being, which Lyrica might have been grateful for had she been paying attention. She wasn't fond of listening to other people's chatter. They both quietly finished their meal. Then Lyrica grabbed her coat, lunch and bag before heading for the door.

"Thank you for breakfast, Janie."

"You're welcome. Have a good day, Lyrica."

"Thanks."

It wasn't a long walk to the bus stop, four songs at most. Her iPod was tucked into an inside pocket of her jacket. Her headphones were tucked snugly underneath her hat, which served the double purpose of keeping her ears warm and putting an extra barrier between her and the rest of the world. Her music was turned up loud enough that she wouldn't hear someone talking to her unless they yelled in her face. She made up for this handicap by keeping her eyes moving, making sure she was taking in everything. She didn't want to turn the sound down and let the city noises in, but she didn't want to get hit by a bike or car because she couldn't hear what was going on around her.

Most of the other kids were already there, and she barely got through one more song before the bus arrived. Her seat was three rows back on the left, a spot she didn't share with anyone else. She turned her eyes away from the constantly moving mouths around her and toward the city streets shown through her window.

If Lyrica had her own car, the trip would probably take little more than 10 minutes. The bus had a couple more stops to make after hers and took more than twice that time. When they finally made it to the school, she waited until the bus was nearly empty to leave her seat.

There was little interesting about spending a day in what amounted to a giant box. Lyrica looked forward to the day that she didn't have to come here anymore, but in the meantime she went ahead and payed attention to the dull lessons. Math and history might be boring and pointless, but she didn't want to move on and find out that some doors were closed to her because she hadn't performed well enough.

Her day was the usual mess of dry teachers, pointless busywork and the constant distraction of whispering students. One would think that these kids had never heard of silence. Barely a handful of them had the patience to just sit down and do what was necessary without resorting to that distracting noise. Lyrica understood that they valued their friendships, but she was still irritated when the buzz of fifteen different conversations scattered her own thoughts.

Lunch, at least, was a welcome relief. The only other people in the library were never the talkative types, and Ms. Nelson always had a new book to recommend if she had finished the last. A book was the closest thing that Lyrica could get to a time machine – it made her appear in the future, hardly having felt the passage of time.

Ms. Nelson smiled as Lyrica came in. "How far are you in the Incarnations series, Lyrica?"

"I'm partway through For Love of Evil. It's interesting to see the villain of the first five books be the protagonist. I mean, of all the characters you could try to paint as a good guy..."

"Well, there's always multiple sides to every story. If you want a story to be realistic, it doesn't make sense for anyone to be evil just for the heck of it. Everyone sees themselves as the hero of their own story."

"That's a bit hard to imagine. When you see people who practically live to hurt others, you'd never think that they consider themselves good people."

"Perception is a funny thing."

Lyrica only smiled and nodded in response before finding a seat near the fantasy section. The chairs here were obscured by the shelves of books, making it so they could not be seen from the entrance. It felt almost as if Lyrica was alone.

_Everyone is the hero of their own story_. It was a nice catch phrase, but it wasn't true. Lyrica certainly didn't consider herself a hero, she simply did what was necessary. She wasn't a villain either. Most people, she thought, didn't view themselves as either of those extremes. If people saw themselves as 'good' at all, it was because their idea of morality was tied to what was good for them. The fact that people's concept of right and wrong was so fluid only proved that.

Perhaps Lyrica was cynical, but the idea that people were selfish explained more about the world than any touchy-feely 'people are good inside' tripe. No matter what a person believed, the world stayed exactly what it was. It was better to accept that and accept reality than to wish for things to be better. After all, wishing only ever worked in fairy tales and movies. In real life, the only thing a person could change was their own reaction to what was presented to them.

She ate her lunch – peanut butter &amp; jelly with an apple – in quiet solitude that was only broken when the headphones found their way back over her ears. Before terribly long, it was time to head back to classes.

The rest of the school day went by as usual – English, at least, was somewhat interesting. They were covering the concept of utopias. Still, Lyrica was glad to be on the bus and heading back to Janie's place. There was nothing she wanted more than a little bit of peace. She let some of the stress go as she walked back to the house, her footsteps keeping time with the beat.

Peace, a little time with nothing but her own thoughts. It wasn't really so much to ask for, was it?

Janie and Alex were sitting at the kitchen table when she walked in.

"Lyrica?"

"Yeah."

"Alex and I would like to talk to you for a minute."

What Lyrica honestly wanted was to walk past them, up the stairs and into her room. She considered it for a moment, but it would cause far too many problems. Janie would be pissed, for starters. Whatever conversation she wanted to have would turn into a fight instead. It would be much easier to sit through this now before anybody started turning up the volume.

"Alright." She dropped her bag and coat in the hallways and came to sit down across from the couple. "What's up?"

Alex leaned forward, resting his folded hands on the table. "Lyrica, we understand that things are very hard for you right now. Adjusting to a new place is never easy. But we need you to work with us."

"Okay?" Lyrica couldn't help but feel a bit concerned. Had she made some mistake without realizing?

"Janie told me about her recent conversation with your therapist. I get that talking to a stranger can be hard. So we thought it might help you to talk to us instead."

_That_ was what this was about? "Dr. Fel isn't hard to talk to. I just don't know what he wants from me. He asks me questions, I answer, but he's not happy with what I have to say. I don't know what to tell you."

"You keep telling him that you feel fine," said Janie. "I know you're trying very hard to keep going after everything, but if you're never willing to talk about her - "

"_Don't_."

One small word, softly spoken, from a small and fragile-looking girl. It was enough to stop Janie, her jaw dropping open in surprise.

"Don't try to pull this heart-to-heart stuff." Lyrica kept her voice low, her gaze even. "I'm doing what I can with what I have right now. Talking about things that happened before is not going to make anything better."

Alex put on determination like a mask, taking on a commanding tone like he thought he was her father. "If you don't talk about how the past is affecting you, it can never be fixed. You can't expect anyone to believe you when you say that you feel nothing about it."

"But that's exactly what I feel. _Nothing_. And I'm okay with explaining that to someone who thinks I'm a liar for an hour every week, but if you think I'm supposed to be okay with you heckling me about it the rest of the time, you have another thing coming."

She needed to get away.

As she stood up from the table, Alex moved as if to follow her. Janie laid a quiet hand on his shoulder to settle him down. Lyrica could hear the soft murmur as she left the room.

"Let her be for a little while. We need to be understanding of her problems, even if that problem is connecting with us."

She stopped for a moment in the hall, collecting her iPod and headphones. In barely more than a moment, she was out the door.

She felt a little chilly without a jacket, but it only took a moment for her to plug in and start playing. She skimmed through the list, looking for something loud and scathing. Relief washed over her as the music poured into her ears. She turned at the end of the block, determined to get herself a little lost for a while. She could always track down the way back later.

What right did they have to pry into her brain like it was some puzzle to solve? She didn't owe them that. She wasn't going to just lie on the dissecting table for them all to look at because they thought they knew what was best for her. And to top it all off, they called her a liar. What did they know? They put so much stock in their _feelings_, it was inconceivable to them that Lyrica might not bother with it.

Her eardrums throbbed with the screamed vocals and deep bass. She could feel the cork on her heart prying loose, looking forward to the relief she would feel when the sound stole that growing pressure in her chest. She turned the volume up further, until the song made its way into every space in her mind.

_All the same  
I remain  
The one to blame and I'm_

Now she could feel it all – the bitter rage that _everyone_ wanted to peek inside, that her privacy was nothing but an inconvenience to the rest of the world. She had a right to her own counsel.

She kept moving, her eyes on the sidewalk as she made random turns through the city.

_Demonized  
Purified  
Justified  
As you let yourself show_

Lyrica didn't care that she didn't understand them. You couldn't get into someone else's head and think exactly the way did. She understood that, and was content to let them function in their own absurd way. She couldn't help but wonder, _why can't they extend the same courtesy to me?_ It wasn't enough to live and let live. They wanted her to think the way they did.

_So now you'll love these screams  
What's left of me  
Love these screams like I do_

With quick steps she moved between a pair of parked cars and into the street.

_As the infinite stops cold..._

Distracted as she was, Lyrica didn't see the truck until she was already standing in its way.

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**Question of the Week:**What's your favorite song to listen to when you're irritated? (I have a whole playlist for that, actually...)

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**A/N**Now for the random rambly author chatter. This is a reupload, because I finally got myself a good editor - and she's now working on the second chapter. I should be able to post it in a couple of days.


	2. Old Fantasies (Act 1 : Angel)

The song for this chapter is 'Faces Like Mine', by Emilie Autumn

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_Act 1 - Angel_

**Chapter 2 : Old Fantasies**

"Please begin the song you prepared."

Lyrica glanced around the vast room, trying to remember how she had arrived. She stood near the front of a stage, looking out into a sea of red velvet seats. She was obviously in a theater – but she couldn't for the life of her imagine why.

Someone in the front row coughed. Looking down, Lyrica could see a handful of people sitting there, all staring straight at her and starting to look impatient. Most were men, but she spotted two women in the mix.

Suddenly it dawned on her; this was a dream, one of those awful, irritating dreams where you had to perform and you didn't know what to do. It would explain why she didn't remember coming here, at least. With the question of why she was here answered, she just needed to decide what she was going to do next.

Her first thought was to just leave. She had not chosen to be here, there was no reason for her to stand on stage feeling out of place. A small, prideful spot in her mind grumbled at the idea of letting a silly dream beat her, of being chased away because of a subconscious construct.

No, she wouldn't leave. They asked for a song. That should be simple enough to do. As her 'audience' began to shift irritably in their seats, she launched into the first song that came to mind.

"_You say you're curious, can't leave a thing to your imagination  
I wish you'd close your eyes  
But oh, you seem so serious, I should enjoy the sweet interrogation  
You start to hypnotize me..."_

Several of the observers frowned, and one woman snorted loudly, tossing her curls over one shoulder. She started whispering to the man next to her.

"_I should not be telling you  
I'm flattered by your interest  
Who am I talking to?  
Could be the demon with a mask..."_

Somewhere above her, a shadow shifted.

"_Why should I trust in you?  
I don't feel safe, I never did  
But what else can I do  
But what you ask?"_

The hidden observer felt a small twinge of curiosity. The song certainly wasn't from an opera – he knew each one. He had started listening with only half an ear, unimpressed with the girl's voice, rough and childish as it was. But now he found himself leaning forward in the darkness, taking in a glimpse of the girl who knew such an odd song.

Her body was as childlike as her voice. Her proportions seemed too small for a grown woman, and her long blonde braid did nothing to mitigate that impression. The only thing about her that suggested that she was an adult was her face, which had a harsh, angular nature that usually came with age. Such an odd appearance might be unsettling, to some, but physical oddities meant little to him.

"_Think of your darkest night  
Think of your soul alone  
If you can bear the sight  
Think of the love you've never known..."_

The only thing that mattered to him was knowing where this strange song had come from. He prided himself on knowing everything about music, but the style of this was new to him.

"_Yes, it's unusual  
To live your life this way  
All I can say  
Maybe that's why you don't see  
Faces like mine every day"_

As she continued, he could tell that she was losing the attention of her audience. Carlotta, who was more interested in making sure none of the new girls were a threat to her than helping choose new members of the chorus, had grown bored and was conversing with Piangi. Everyone else simply looked confused – or in Reyer's case, offended – by her song choice. It was entirely inappropriate for an opera audition.

Even if she had chosen an appropriate song, her voice wasn't good enough for the company unless she turned out to be a stellar ballerina, and he could tell by looking at her that this wasn't the case. She lacked the sleek musculature of a dancer. She would be sent away.

"_Who will forgive me,  
No one knows I've done wrong  
Won't you believe me,  
'Cause I won't last that long..."_

She would be sent away, and he would never know where she had learned that song.

Pen and paper appeared in his hand. It would be simple enough to solve the dilemma – if she stayed, then he'd have time to figure out the puzzle.

"_No, I  
I wanna be quiet now  
All alone, back to my shadow  
I'm gonna hide behind  
The trouble in my mind."_

One of the men in the front row spoke, cutting off the remainder of the song. "Thank you. Please return to the foyer, the dance portion of the audition will begin shortly."

Well, Lyrica hadn't choked up or suddenly turned up naked on the stage, so she supposed that counted as a win. Still, she wasn't really sure where to go next with all of this. Hoping that she'd wake up soon from this odd dream, she moved toward the door that had been pointed out to her. As she moved past the observers, something flitted down from the ceiling.

It seemed as though it took Lyrica longer to walk down the aisles of the theater than it should have – undoubtedly an effect of dreaming. Or nerves; despite knowing that none of this was real and it didn't matter whether the people watching liked her performance, she was still feeling a bit of stage fright.

That train of thought lead Lyrica to start wondering why she was so much more aware of her body now than she usually was in dreams, but the thought was cut short when she went through the door. The foyer was as grand as the stage, with a sweeping staircase leading down to the main floor. It looked like it belonged in a palace. If nothing else, her subconscious was excellent at coming up with interesting places.

At the bottom of the stairs, a couple dozen chairs sat in neat rows. The seats were filled with a mix of men and women, many of them performing vocal or physical warm-ups. She saw one girl pirouette a few times, maintaining perfect balance as though her foot was stuck to the spot. Shaking her head in amazement, Lyrica gave a silent thanks for the fact that she hadn't had to do _that_ on the stage.

After a moment of scanning the available seats, Lyrica saw that one of the closest had a bag sitting in front of it – a bag with her name written in curling letters. With nothing better to do, she sat down.

The man sitting next to her glanced at her sideways. "How well do you think it went?" His voice was rich and deep, seeming almost too low for the slim body it came from. He seemed young and mature at the same time, dark hair pushed back from a face made of soft angles.

"I don't really know. They don't let on much."

The man hummed, the deep rumble almost enough to vibrate Lyrica's chair. "From what I have heard, Carlotta usually makes it quite clear what she thinks, especially when a woman is auditioning. I don't know if her being more subdued should be considered good or ill."

"I suppose I'll just have to find out the hard way." Mind whirling, Lyrica turned away from the man so he might get the hint that she had no desire to speak any longer. She rolled the name in her mind... _Carlotta_. There was no doubt where that name had come from. A brief moment of shock froze the spinning gears of her mind before she remembered that this was a dream, and it made sense that she'd recognize some of the names. It didn't really mean anything.

There seemed little to do but settle in and wait.

"I wish they'd hurry and call the last few applicants," the man beside her muttered. "No matter how used to the stage one becomes, an audition still brings out the most unsure thoughts."

Inside, those in charge of the audition were huddled around a letter.

"He wants to let this girl sing on _my_ stage? It only proves this ghost has no taste!" The woman adjusted the red curls splayed across her shoulders, a thick Italian accent muddling her words. "I doubt she can sing opera at all."

"And you can tell just by looking at her that she's not trained as a ballerina..." An austere woman in a black dress stared into one of the private boxes as she spoke, "but dare we refuse? There's certainly room for the girl, even if she is an inconvenience, but we'll have more to worry about if we send her away."

Each person turned to the man holding the letter, who turned the envelope over in his hand. The skull seal, though broken, was still imposing. "We'll make do. Perhaps you can all think of it as a challenge; teach a girl off the street to be part of an opera troupe."

The red-headed woman snorted. "And I suppose you would roll over like my dog if he ordered you to, Lefevre. I will have nothing to do with this chit, and I expect you to keep her out of my way until you have her _trained_ well enough that she will not ruin the show!" With a huff, she turned and walked off toward the stage. "Audition the last few talentless brats without me." A heavy-set man shrugged and followed after her, offering an amused smile to the others.

The group watched them walk away in silence, then turned back to Lefevre. He sighed and said, "I'm sure that will be simple enough. It's an extra mouth to feed, and extra work for Giry, but we've been doing well. And with some training she might be able to join the chorus."

"What to do with her in the meantime, though?" Asked a twig-like man, a touch irritably. "Whether we could support a pair of idle hands or not, it will cause a stir among the cast and staff."

Lefevre considered for a moment. "Then put her with the staff. If she's ever fit to perform, we'll put her in the chorus, and otherwise she can work as a maid or cook."

"We'll be making plenty of rumors." The black-clad woman glanced at the stage. "Carlotta isn't known for keeping her thoughts to herself. Everyone is going to know about the note within a week. We'll need to do the best we can not to set her apart further."

"Poor girl..." added Lefevre. "It can't be good to have caught the ghost's attention."

The woman took a deep breath, trying to avoid looking at one of the boxes above them. "He certainly hasn't done her any favors."

This was probably one of the most boring dreams Lyrica had ever had. After several minutes, another name had been called. With nothing to do but wait for whatever came next, Lyrica had started to examine the bag that bore her name. She only cracked it open, trying to pretend that she was looking for something specific. She found a few simple dresses, a hairbrush and hand mirror, and a small empty journal. It seemed her character in this dream didn't have much to her name.

Lyrica was starting to wonder why she was bothering to sit here. It was just a dream, and a rather annoying one at that. Why not just walk out, force the dream to change to something else? Though she seriously considered it, something about it just felt _wrong_. She needed to stay here, to see what happened next. The outcome of her audition felt more important than anything she'd had in her life recently. _I guess I have to play by the rules of the dream,_ she thought. _I just wish I didn't have to _wait.

The room around her continued to hold all the same nervous energy she'd seen when she first walked in. Most of the warm-ups had ceased, with a few people doing some light stretches. It felt like everyone in the room was holding their breath.

You could sense the collective exhale when a woman in a black dress came out of the theatre. "Would the dancers please come inside. One of our dancers will be teaching you the audition routine. Vocalists, a list of those being accepted will be posted shortly."

Several men and women stood to file toward the doors. The man beside Lyrica gave a deep sigh of relief. "Not much longer, then..." He turned toward her, one side of his mouth quirking up in a smile. "Aren't you going?"

"I don't dance." She didn't like the way he was looking at her. She didn't like being looked at in general. If there was something that could make it more obvious that she wasn't interested in talking to any of the characters in this stupid scenario, she didn't know what it was. The best she could do was pretend that the hands resting in her lap were the most interesting things in the world.

He chuckled slightly. "Well, that's a shame. You seem..."

His sudden stop caused her to look up. The woman in black had stopped right in front of her, was staring at her with a face that somehow held both determination and confusion.

"You're Lyrica, correct? Lyrica Kibbe?"

Well, that was her name. Not surprising that someone in her dream knew it. "Yes."

"Come with me please." The woman began to turn away before pausing. "Bring your bag." With that, she began to walk to one of the smaller doors leading out of the foyer.

As Lyrica stood to follow, she heard the man beside her murmur, "They must have really liked you..."

Lyrica shook her head slightly and rushed after the woman, who remained silent as they crossed the open room. Her steps were quick and efficient, heels clicking smartly on the polished tile floor. Lyrica was reminded of a strict school marm from one of those old movies, the kind who lived to kill fun. Once they went through the door and it closed between them and the crowd, the woman finally spoke. "I'm Antoinette Giry, the ballet mistress for the opera."

Lyrica couldn't help but laugh a little at this. "Of course you are." It was easy to see what direction this was going.

Madame Giry seemed slight confused and taken aback by this, before a considering look crossed her face. "I suppose you've taken quite an interest in our opera house. But I'm afraid I only have a short time to speak with you before I have to return to auditions."

At least now, Lyrica understood why she'd waited. What started out as an unpleasant dream seemed to be taking a turn for one of her long-held fantasies. This place... how much she'd loved the story it told, loved the beautiful character that haunted it. It seemed that thoughts of somehow coming here had faded when her life changed, yet it had just been waiting in her subconscious. Waiting to become a lovely dream.

"Let me guess. You want me as part of the opera troupe." A smile managed to sneak past Lyrica's conscious thoughts, peeking out from behind her lips.

The eyes regarding Lyrica narrowed slightly. "Confidence is an important trait, Mademoiselle Kibbe, but cockiness gets you nowhere." Giry paused for a deep breath, seeming to consciously rearrange her features into something more friendly, with moderate success. "I'll be honest with you, girl. You don't have the skill to be in an opera. But we thought..." The friendly look became more strained. "We thought that you seem to have some latent talent. I don't know what training you've had, but our manager has a proposition for you."

It wasn't quite what Lyrica had been expecting, but she was more than happy to be dreaming about the Opera Populaire. "And what's that?"

"You stay on as a member of our staff – cook, help with the sets, whatever you show some aptitude for. And we'll train you. If you're able to learn, you'll become part of the cast."

A more realistic retelling of her old fantasy, then. Still, she was getting a chance to live it, she'd take what she could.

What a shame it was just a dream. It would run its lovely course and then she'd wake up in her bed... Oddly enough, she didn't remember going to bed. She tried to pull herself into reality enough to remember where she was, but the last thing she remembered was being angry at Janie and Alex, walking through town, and...

_We barely got to her in time. We're doing all we can to stabilize her, but I don't know what her chances are. Have the parents been called?_

A strange man's voice. Brows drawn tightly together, Lyrica tried to reach for some understanding of what she'd just heard. She didn't know that person, didn't understand what he was saying. What was going on?

"I understand it's strange." Giry's voice felt like a jolt to Lyrica, who realized that she was standing in the same place she'd been before. "But this isn't something we generally do, and it's a great opportunity for you. It may not be quite what you wanted, but it's a better chance at it than many people will get."

Of course. This was a dream, strange things could happen. Better enjoy it while she could, even if there were some odd bits sprinkled in. "I'm very grateful. I'll work as hard as I can."

"I'm glad to hear it. We generally house members of the chorus here in the Opera. Is this acceptable?"

Where she was staying was hardly important. "Of course."

The way Madame Giry sighed, like she'd just gotten through some disaster unscathed, seemed out of place to Lyrica. She once again chalked it up to the odd nature of dreams.

"Good. Follow me, please."

Again they walked in silence, Lyrica increasingly feeling like she was following a teacher to the principle's office. She certainly never thought of Madame Giry as being this severe. Strict, perhaps, but this was overkill. On the other hand, the silence was better than an attempt at casual conversation. The thoughts flitting through her head were interesting enough to deserve a thorough examination, and she hadn't been able to mull it all over earlier.

Madame Giry, the ballet mistress. Carlotta, the bratty Prima Donna. To her the names were as familiar as a childhood friend, the kind shown in movies who share every secret and carry each other through rough times. This was always her favorite daydream. She'd never really considered making it quite this realistic, since life held more than enough realism for her, but the beauty of it was the same.

The strangest part was how vivid everything was. As they walked through the back halls used by the cast and staff, every detail was so perfectly in place, it hardly seemed like a dream at all. It was difficult to be sure in a dream, but it didn't seem as though anything were shifting when she looked away. One hall held a rather large clock.

The hands showed 7:43.

Lyrics looked away for a moment, then back to the clock.

7:43.

A nearby wall saved Lyrica from a stumble, and the steady clack of Madame Giry's shoes stopped. The woman had turned to check on Lyrica, who smiled and straightened her posture to show she was fine.

The last things she felt was fine. Lyrica's mind had stalled on that clock, on the test that was supposed to show whether a person was asleep or awake. In dreams, things like books and clocks changed when you looked away. She kept her eyes darting about for another clock as she tried to remember the other tests.

There, a grandfather clock. 7:45.

If this was a dream – and it must be, there could simply be no way she went from her daily life to this – then it wasn't like any dream she'd ever had before.

The main thought settling into her mind was, _I don't know what to expect. Best to expect nothing and be ready for everything_. Easier said than done.

A messy mind left the surroundings a bit of a blur, and Lyrica nearly ran into Giry when she stopped in front of a door.

"I need to finish the auditions. One of the ballerinas will be out in a moment to show you to a room. I'll take you to see the manager later, and we'll discuss your arrangements."

"Thank you, Ma'am." At least Giry didn't feel the need to clutter a set of orders with small talk. It wasn't likely that Lyrica would be able to handle anything so complicated as human interaction, not with the way she was currently feeling. When the older woman disappeared behind the door, Lyrica took a moment to just lean against the wall and breathe. She needed to take stock of everything, get her head screwed on straight again. Otherwise she could ruin what may shape into one of the best dreams she ever had.

The most important thing to remember was that it _was_ a dream. Nothing in it was real, so nothing could really hurt her. The worst case scenario would be if it turned itself into a nightmare – and she could certainly handle those. No matter what, there was no reason for her to let it phase her too much. Just ride out whatever oddness came up.

"Just keep reminding yourself it's a dream, and the little stuff won't bother you," she muttered to herself.

"What's a dream?" The new voice was shy and sweet. Once her eyes were opened, Lyrica found that the voice's owner was a blonde girl maybe a year or two older than Lyrica herself, whose form might have been considered petite if her limbs showed less muscle. A glance at the girl's feet revealed the reason for her form – she sported a pair of ballet slippers, the kind built to let the wearer move about on their toes.

Clearly, this was the ballerina that Giry had promised. She might as well try and recover from the overheard monologue, since she'd likely be working with this girl. "Life in general, I suppose. The world doesn't always make any more sense than a dream does, and I think the best way to handle that is just go along with the absurdities you find."

The ballerina smiled, lighting her face up with the kind of openness one normally only sees in children. "That sounds like good advice. I've always thought it was better to do something about a problem than to wonder why it's there. My name is Meg, I'm the Prima Ballerina."

Of course she was.

"I'm Lyrica. Apparently I'm going to be working here now. Madame Giry said you'd show me to my room?" She was looking forward to being able to properly rifle through 'her' bag, and she needed some privacy to do it.

Meg simply nodded and said, "This way." Lyrica trailed along behind her, noting the way Meg's quick feet seemed to glide across the ground even when she was walking. She'd kill to have grace like that.

The time passed in silence; it seemed that little Meg was not much more of a talker than her mother, though her demeanor was warm and calm. As they passed through hallways and narrow stairs, Lyrica felt like she was following a sedate ghost. Everything seemed quiet; perhaps everyone was occupied with the auditions.

Minutes passed in a meditative blur. They crossed the path of another young woman, who offered Meg a smile. After that they found their way back into life again, as voices murmured behind closed doors and quick feet hurried through the halls.

"This is the dormitory for the ballet corp," Meg explained. "We'll be heading a floor down, to the servant's quarters. Mother would like you to stay there for now, to avoid gossip."

"I appreciate that."

One final staircase led to an empty hall. Meg walked past several doors before stopping to rap smartly on one. When there was no answer, she opened it and gestured for Lyrica to enter.

Holding tightly to the bag with her name, Lyrica walked through and took in everything. There were two beds on opposite sides of the room, each with a small dresser beside it. The one closest to her had a handful of objects settled on top, but the other side was bare.

"Your roommate is one of the cook's helpers, she likely won't be here for several hours. Dinner is going to be served once the auditions are over; I'll come fetch you and show you the way. Feel free to settle in." Meg smiled warmly. "I have to get back, but you're welcome to ask anything you like later."

Lyrica simply nodded, watching as Meg closed the door. A few deep breaths served to steady herself, and she set the bag on her new bed to examine it more thoroughly. The embroidered name was lovely; she wondered if her character in this dream had been some sort of seamstress. The contents of the bag proved to be no different than her earlier rifling had suggested – while the brush and mirror were made of polished metal, and may well be moderately expensive in this time period, the dresses were simple things that she could imagine a maid wearing.

She pulled out the journal, flipping slowly through the pages. Though she had been correct in her conclusion that it was unused, she found a small flier for the Opera Populaire wedged within the pages.

_It's certainly a very detailed dream_, she thought. _If 'dream' is even the right thing to call it._

Once again, there was nothing to do but wait.

* * *

**Question of the Week:** If you could transport yourself into any story, what would it be and why?

* * *

**A/N:** Holy cow, I'm not dead. Wow. I'm a bit ashamed of myself (very, actually) for how long this took. I'm not gonna bore you with what happened - suffice to say I don't think it'll happen again. That being said, my new job kicks my butt, so updates will be slower than I had originally intended. As of right now, I'm only managing to write half a page or so per day, but I'm trying to keep it up so I can at least post periodically.

Now, I found myself a wonderful editor, but she takes her time to do the job right, so even when my chapters are complete it'll take them some time to get on the site. I really, really hope I can finish the next chapter before the new year, and post it sometime after, but no promises.

Maybe I should keep a running status on my profile or something, so people know I didn't fall off the face of the planet again.


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